Visual art comes in many varieties: the hard and angular avant-garde, sharp at the edges, cerebral; the visceral work of hyperrealism; the quiet landscape, full of light.
Kate Atkinson is a brilliant novelist, an historian, a tease, a practical joker; she’s empathetic, adventuresome, erudite. By now she's also probably quite wealthy . . . and with good reason.
It is Paris, 1862, and the novel’s narrator, Victorine, “wears the green boots of a whore.” Sitting outside a shop window and sketching with her friend and roommate Denise, she is approached by a s
“a political thriller, complete with a vicious dictator, a bloody coup, the ascendance of an even more murderous dictator, and resulting grave danger to a main character.”
